


Wolves Without Teeth

by kingwellsjaha



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Canon-Typical (Sexual) Violence, Canon-Typical Levels of Horniness, F/M, Set during the beginning of s4b, Werewolves as a Metaphor, does not have to be read as a metaphor though, you can simply enjoy this story about werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23560777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingwellsjaha/pseuds/kingwellsjaha
Summary: The people of Kattegat worry about monsters in the woods, but Djurdja knows that the real monsters hide inside the house.aka. a Werewolves AU (Of Sorts)
Relationships: Hvitserk (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s), Margrethe & Original Female Character, Margrethe/Ivar (Background)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 27





	Wolves Without Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> a general warning before heading into this story: this deals story deals mainly with sexual violence. it's the focus of the story. i don't think i've gotten to explicit. that's why the raiting is mature not explicit, but still take care.

Djurdja learnt the word for monster two moons after her arrival. It felt funny when she spoke it out loud, too broad and soft to sound dangerous. Not even the hushed voices could make it seem frightening.

They said there had been sightings of creatures on the outskirts of the forest. Neither man nor animal they loomed in the shadows and frightened wanders at night. They were quick with fleshy human skin and only a hint of fur, their teeth sharp and pointy in a human looking mouth. Until now they had not attacked anyone, just caused a fright. The guards were on high alert and the queen had been informed, but without further information she didn’t see any reason to act.

Naturally everyone started to worry, especially the queen’s thralls who lived in the longhouse and never had to go near the forest. The distance seemed to agitate their fear and sparked their imagination. Every day they would retell the story and add another detail. Djurdja listened to them again and again. It was sometimes hard to follow, the language they spoke was still foreign to her, but it was the first story that stirred her interest after months of indifference. The more she listened, the more she agreed: they should be worried but not by the darkness of the forest. 

Before she had been taken, Djurdja had lived between the sea and the outskirts of the woods. She knew its darkness like the back of her hand. Her mother had told her all its secrets. The creatures, the guards had described, were not native to the forest but lived in longhouses. Her mother had called them wolfmen. They behaved like humans most of the time and looked like them too. Some nights when the moon shone bright, they crawled out of their houses and turned into monsters.

If Djurdja was right, and she was certain that she was, these monsters were close. They sat at the table at dinner and demanded food and drink. They were rowdy and broke plates in anger for their servants to scoop up. Yes, the thralls of the queen should be scared, very scared indeed, for they were serving the monsters.

* * *

Djurdja had made this connection a few days after she had heard the story for the third time. It had been the morning she had found Margrethe crying in the stables, a ring of bruises covering her neck. Of course Djurdja knew what had happened. None of the thralls talked about it, but all knew what game the princes had started playing with the beautiful girl and afraid of becoming part of it too, they looked the other way and in general ignored her. Djurdja had been no different. Confused and cut off by the language barrier, she had ignored everyone, but on that fateful day that changed.

Slowly she had gotten onto her knees and hugged Margrethe. It had been so long that she had almost forgotten how it felt like to hug someone. Her eyes had fallen onto the bruises again and she had gotten very angry. _They behaved like monsters_ , she had thought, and then it had dawned on her: _They were monsters_.

Margrethe had laughed at the suggestions, when Djurdja brought it up a few days later. It was the first time Djurdja dared to speak to someone directly. Despite being in their clutches, Margrethe didn’t believe her. She didn’t even believe there were monsters.

“This is just the imagination of people running wild,” her voice was strained and she looked tired. The youngest prince had made her his personal thrall a day ago and since then her bruises had gotten worse. Djurdja tried to remain calm but determined.

“Then why did guards see four monsters?”

Margrethe rolled her eyes. “Because it’s scarier. I promise you, this evening they will talk about five monsters.”

But they didn’t. When the evening came and the thralls gathered around to eat dinner, they still only talked about four monsters.

When everyone had gone to sleep, Djurdja called out softly to Margrethe in the dark. The other girl turned towards her hesitantly. It was a particularly dark night with only a new moon to cast light and Djurdja could barely see Margrethe’s face. “We cannot kill them,” Djurdja whispered and hoped that her Norse was good enough for Margrethe to follow, “the queen would kill us.” Even in the dark Djurdja could see Margrethe’s brows starting to furrow. Djurdja took another look around and leaned closer, “but if we kill them as monsters, we are without guilt.”

Silence and raised eyebrows, then Margrethe turned away without saying another word. Djurdja was angry for a moment then. It prickled underneath her skin, but morning came and she grew softer. Margrethe had lived her whole life as a thrall, Djurdja couldn’t fault her for thinking like one.

* * *

The biggest problem was obtaining a weapon. Her mother had taught her how to lay traps, but she had not the material to create one big enough. As a thrall, she was not allowed to own a weapon, let alone touch one, but that didn’t stop her determination. One afternoon she slipped to the training grounds trying to find something useful.

It was a very disappointing search. The only thing useful was an arrowhead buried deep into a target. It took her the entire afternoon to free it and when she was done it felt rather small in her hand. She tried not to give into her exhaustion and get angry. Even an arrowhead could slice open an enemy. She just needed to work on it some more.

Just as she had found her courage again, the sound of footsteps near her filled her with dread. They were so close, she couldn’t believe that she had not heard them earlier, probably too caught up in her own feelings.

With a loud beating heart she turned to come face to face with one of the monsters. He was standing three feet away with his eyes on her. She had never really noticed him until now. From all of the princes he was the most unassuming with an easy-to-forget face. Usually all he demanded was ale and food, never even sparing her a glance. She had seen him many times passed out drunk, barely able to walk. He had not seemed that dangerous then, but now caught in his gaze, she realized that she had been mistaken. His hunger now directed at her felt dangerous.

His eyes roamed her body. She could already feel him eating her up. There was something playful in his expression. He had clearly not seen the arrowhead in her hand. For a moment she considered slicing him up here and now, to let him come close and then press the arrowhead into his stomach and move upwards, but the arrowhead felt dull in her hand and the punishment would be too great.

So instead she slowly took a step backwards. Like her mother taught her, she kept her eyes on the predator. He didn’t move, just continued watching. She took another step and another. It was important not to run, if you ran, the predator would see you as prey, but if you walked slowly, you had a chance.

And indeed, he didn’t follow her, just crossed his arms and started to laugh. His laughter followed her back to the longhouse and clung to her skin. Slowly she realized the impact of what had happened. She might’ve escaped now, but she had attracted his attention. Carefully she observed the arrowhead in her hand again. Hopefully it would have been worth it.

* * *

Sleep didn’t come easy that night, she listened as the others told their stories again. The wolfmen still had not attacked a human being. Only sheep had gone missing. The thralls were surprised and maybe a little bit disappointed. Djurdja wasn’t. Her mother had explained to her that wolfmen were not inherently good or evil. They remained human in that way. _A wolfman is a sign of injustice being done_ , she had said, _all wolfmen have experienced violence at some point in their life_ . Djurdja considered her words now, trying to find the violence these princes must’ve felt and how they had gotten accustomed to it and replicated it. _It can be a spiral_ , her mother had explained, _violence breeds violence, but not all wolfmen are bad. Not all violence is unwarranted._

Djurdja thought about these words as she started to polish the arrowhead. It was still dark with only a sickle moon above, hiding between clouds. She polished the arrowhead again and again, until it was sharp, until it cut into her hand. She suppressed a scream, as the blood spilled down her arm. She watched the wound bleed until it was dry. Then her body forced her to sleep.

In her dream, she was on the outskirts of the forest, crawling on her fours. There was a hunger inside of her that needed to be stilled and a scent in the air that guided her towards the city. The scent was sweet and overpowering. Everything that would’ve gotten between her and the scent wouldn’t have survived, but the streets were empty. Everyone was fast asleep.

She tracked down the source: a girl sleeping by a geese pen. Her unruly dark hair fell into her face. Dark strong eyebrows framed dark lashes. As she stepped closer, she realized that it was herself still holding onto the arrowhead in her bleeding hand. She wanted to stop, but couldn’t. The scent was too sweet; the hunger too strong. She moved further, her snout touching her own shoulder.

The touch felt so real, it stirred her awake and for a moment there she could feel both the snout touching her shoulder and her shoulder being touched. Then reality came back to her.

* * *

Dreams were sometimes visions of the future, you just had to learn how to interpret them correctly. So Djurdja shouldn’t have been surprised by what happened after. Over the next few days she caught him watching her multiple times, during dinner when she filled his brothers’ cups, while she fed the geese.

Boys like him had no patience. They were used to getting what they wanted, so she should’ve expected him touching her, but somehow she had not. Somehow she had believed that he still needed time, but there he was standing next to her with his hand on her chin. She had just put up the freshly washed blankets. In the background, she could still hear the other thralls washing the rest of the laundry, but they were not talking anymore. It was painfully quiet. He forced her to look at him and this close she could see that his eyes had turned dark. She remembered the hunger in her dream and knew exactly how he felt.

There was no way of escaping this, but she still took a step back freeing herself of his grip. This time he moved with her, his arm still outstretched. She should’ve stopped right there, just let it happen, but her body wouldn’t give in. It moved on its own. The prince followed like a shadow with a smile on his face. Her behavior seemed to amuse him.

She didn’t know why her body brought her to the barn, but she knew it had been a mistake as soon as she looked at the sturdy walls in front of her. There was no way to escape and even worse this could read to him as her compliance. She moved towards the wall facing away from him. Some pathetic part inside of her hoping that he would simply disappear, but instead she heard him chuckle. He whispered something under his breath, which she couldn’t decipher. Her hands pressed against the wall. Her arrowhead was buried safely by the geese pen and she wished she had it on her now.

The first thing she felt was his breath against her neck. It made her skin crawl. He pushed her hair aside to press his lips against the juncture of shoulders and neck. His hand forced itself into her dress. It was easy, she had torn it at some point anyway. His rough fingers found her breast quickly and squeezed hard as his teeth bit into her neck.

He pressed further into her, forcing her against the wall. Where his body was touching hers, she could feel herself disappearing. As if the parts of her body were no longer her own. Her breast became a separate entity. Her neck belonged to his teeth. The feeling went underneath her skin. Slowly her body ceased to exist and another emerged unknown to her and strange. She could feel the rest of herself revolt against it. Her last bit of energy longing to be free, to be herself.

And then her body surprised her. Suddenly it snapped and twisted out of the prince’s grasp. She turned and pushed him onto the floor. From where she got that energy she didn’t know. Maybe she had just caught him by surprise. His eyes were wide; his mouth open in confusion.

Djurdja didn’t have the time to think about it, instead she started to run. Her body came back to her as she did. The thralls grew quiet again as she passed them. She knew it was impossible to outrun him, but she had to believe she could do it. She remembered her brothers chasing her through the fields when she had been younger. They had been much older than her and so much faster, but she had managed to outwit them a few times.

Without thinking she headed towards the longhouse. She didn’t dare to look back, didn’t dare to check if he was behind her. In front of the house she almost collided with another prince. He dropped his ourd as he saw her approach, but she managed to surpass him without losing time. He yelled something, but she had no time to listen, instead she bolted through the door.

Inside it was mostly empty. She stopped for a moment to search, for what she had not decided yet. Her first impulse was to scream and ask for help, but in the middle of the room, she realized that no one could help her. She was truly lost and now it would only get worse. She turned around searching for something, anything. Her heart beat so loud she couldn’t hear anything else.

Her eyes found the youngest prince and Margrethe sitting by the fire, but she could already see in his amused expression that he wouldn’t help. From all of them he hungered for blood the most. Margrethe’s expression didn’t reveal her thoughts, but Djurdja saw that she was tense. The prince had curled his hand around her wrist.

She made another turn and this time collided with the oldest prince. Quickly she tried to take a step back, but he grabbed her by the shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” He asked with a suspiciously worried expression. Djurdja wondered if an explanation would help. She tried to calm her breath and gather her words, when the predator arrived. He basked through the door, pointed his finger at her and yelled. His brother let go of her in confusion and Djurdja took her chances. Quickly she bolted through the room to the backdoor.

* * *

Outside she headed straight to the geese pen and dug up the arrowhead, then she hid behind a tree and waited, but no one came. Maybe the oldest prince had stopped him. Slowly her breast became her own again.

When the sky grew dark and she got hungry, she returned to the other thralls. They greeted her with silence and bowed heads. She was like Margrethe now, a danger best to be avoided. Swallowing hard she sat down outside and looked up to the sky. The half moon shone bright above, but even its beauty couldn’t give her comfort.

Margrethe appeared, Djurdja had almost expected her earlier. She sat down next to her. “You need to eat,” she explained as she handed Djurdja a piece of bread.

Djurdja took it and started to chew on it slowly. After she had eaten half of the bread, Margrethe started to speak again: “You were lucky today. Ubbe stopped him, but it will not keep you safe.”

A pause. They exchanged a glance. Djurdja forced the bread down her throat.

“It’s not so horrible—to submit that is—and it doesn’t take long usually—and if you’re lucky, you might get something out of it.”

If they had been back at home, Djurdja would’ve spit the bread right in front of Margrethe’s feet. She would’ve laughed at her, but she was here and her body still felt weak. So instead she used her tongue to spread poison: “Like the young prince treats you?” Her eyes moved over Margrethe’s blue wrists. Self conscious Margrethe pulled down her sleeves.

“My mother predicted that we would be attacked someday,” Djurdja suddenly said. It broke out of her past her control, “it wasn’t a bad guess, we lived so close by the sea—But she said we would be strong in the end, that I would be strong. That we would fight them off.”

She didn’t know why she had told Margrethe that. It had probably something to do with pride. Her family had always been a prideful bunch. Some even had called them arrogant. She still remembered the sneer of their neighbours and how her mother had parried them with a smile. Next to her she had always felt invincible.

“And did you? Did you fight them off?” Margrethe didn’t sound venomous but cold.

Djurdja grew quiet. She felt herself growing small.

No, she had not. None of them had. She had just come back to the burning house and cried. When the men had taken her, she had not even put up a fight. She had not even really noticed them. There had been only tears and a pain so deep it cut into her bones. She had cried for days until her eyes had dried up. Since then she had not cried again, sometimes she thought that she might’ve cried enough for an entire lifetime.

“My father came to our small hut every night,” Margrethe said, “he was a farmer and my mother was his thrall. Sometimes she fought him, but most of the time she laid low. It was for the best. Like this She was allowed to keep me and my sister. And we were fed well.”

* * *

It wasn’t that Djurdja didn’t understand what Margrethe meant or that she judged her for it.

No, to her own disdain she understood what Margrethe was trying to say and she had to admit, she had misjudged her. Margrethe didn’t think like a thrall, she thought like a person clinging to life. Djurdja could not only understand that, she could feel that kind of thinking creeping into her too. She had the arrowhead, yes, but somehow she had not gone to the forest yet. Something kept her by the longhouse, as if she was afraid to die, as if this life she had been given, was somehow better than death.

The Djurdja who had lived between the unruly sea and the dark forest would have died honorably. That girl had witnessed multiple storms crashing into her house. Once a tree fell right onto the roof and it had rained inside for the rest of the night. Djurdja had not feared it. She had embraced the storm with open arms, but she no longer lived between the sea and the forest. She lived in a big trading city surrounded by people who spoke a foreign language. Her body was no longer her own. The Djurdja now was scared and helpless and slowly it turned her into someone else. She could feel herself changing.

During one particular rowdy dinner, which resulted in a fight between the two younger princes, a piece of meat missed its target and hit her instead. They laughed at her as she untangled the piece of meat from her hair. She tried not to notice _him_ looking at her because he did. He had not stopped really, if anything it had gotten worse. The queen rolled her eyes, but let them continue. The younger ones went on with their fight, but the oldest turned towards her with a plate in hand. She frowned at the gesture. Her eyes moved to the plate filled with meat. He smiled and reached out the plate further.

“For you,” he said and sounded all too nice saying it. Djurdja looked back at the plate. She considered it in that moment before she came to her senses. She shook her head and turned away and left as soon as she could. The oldest prince looked confused, almost hurt, when she rejected his food. He probably thought of himself as kind and he was, a kind monster indeed.

That night she dreamt of _him_ kissing her. She was back by the blankets, but instead of moving away, she stayed as the prince leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. It didn’t feel bad, neither did it feel good. She simply let it happen, yielded to his wish, opened her mouth a little to let him in further. All the while she felt nothing, neither sad nor happy, disgusted or satisfied. Even when the prince turned into a wolf and attacked her neck, she remained unaffected.

When she woke up, she felt ashamed of herself. Furthermore she feared what this dream might mean. Whatever it was, she couldn’t accept it. She would not accept it. 

So that night she sat out to the forest with her arrowhead, ready to fight for her life. It wasn’t too dark, the moon was almost full. Walking through the woods she felt like she was almost back at home. Yes, she was back home in the forest, if she turned left, she would soon hear the sound of the sea and if she dared to move further, she would see her house, but she wouldn’t go there. She had a monster to kill. So she moved quickly and looked around. A few birds were talking to each other in the trees. She could hear a hog with its children pass by.

No howl though, not even a bark, Djurdja wondered if wolfmen barked. Her mother had never talked about these details. To test it out she howled herself, but got no reply. She waited: for them to approach, for them to attack her. No one came. Finally she started screaming. She yelled, daring the monsters to approach. She yelled until her throat was sore and she couldn’t speak. No one came. The sun rose again, warming her cold stiff body.

* * *

Cold water woke her. She rose with a shrill shriek. Her throat still hurt. Around her stood the other thralls with serious expressions. Immediately Djurdja tried to get up, but she was pushed back down again.

“You were found by the guards, passed out in the woods with an arrowhead in your hand.”

It wasn’t a question. Djurdja tried to search for Margrethe in the row of faces, but couldn’t find her. One of the stronger looking men started to behind her hands tightly together.

“Normally one would cut off your hand for such a transgression, but the queen has decided to be generous, you will only sleep outside for one night and not eat for three days.”

They lifted her up and brought her to the geese pen, to which they tied her to. Djurdja was too weak to fight them. She just watched as they bound her hands to the fence. They left afterwards without a word. She pressed her head against the wood, trying to find a position to sleep in. Her mind couldn’t process much more. All she knew was that she was cold, hungry and tired.

“What were you thinking?” Margrethe’s voice came from behind. She sounded angry. Djurdja twisted her head to look her in the eyes.

“I was trying to kill them,” she answered softly. It made Margrethe even angrier.

“Kill who? There are no monsters in the woods. It’s a story these people tell themselves to pass the time.”

Djurdja shook her head. “You’re wrong and you know it. They are monsters. See how they treat you.”

Margrethe scoffed. “Ivar is not a monster, he is just pathetic. They all are,” she continued after a bit. “No one can save you now, and it’s all your fault.”

* * *

So this is how it would end. She could not really get herself to feel anything about it. For most of the day she slept, now and then noises of her surroundings stirred her awake. Her hands grew numb. First they turned red then slowly white. She couldn’t even get herself to care about that. Here she was Djurdja who had lived between the sea and a black forest; Djurdja, daughter of Milisa; Djurdja the thrall; Djurdja, soon to be nothing.

With every passing hour the sun hung lower, until finally the world grew dark and quiet. The full moon was up in the sky. For a moment she was able to feel grateful for its beauty. If this was the end, it at least looked pretty.

He came soon after. She heard him approach, felt his eyes on her skin. She remembered her dream.He grabbed her shoulder first. His hand felt warm against her skin. He pressed her further down, twisting her arms into an uncomfortable position. His other hand moved below her dress and up her thigh.

She pressed her face against the fence and tried to calm her heart, which had grown fast again. It was strange how the entire day, she had felt nothing and still now she couldn’t help but be afraid. Margrethe had told her to submit, to lie down and let him do what he wanted to, but she had not told her how to calm her heartbeat or ease her anxiety. How could she accept this pain, embrace it even? Her body turned limp again as he pushed up her dress. _Let it happen_ , she told herself, _let yourself disappear_.

And she did.

Her body grew numb like her hands. Her thighs were the first to gp, then her hips, then her breasts, until there was no skin left that was her own. She could still feel the monster's touch, but it felt distance like in a dream. Nothing was real, she wasn’t there anymore, only this body. She could see goosebumps appearing up its arms. The soft dark hair lifted itself up. She closed the eyes.

In the darkness she could feel her heartbeat, quick then growing slow, turning into something else, something strange. It grew stronger. A fire broke out across the skin, burning in the hands and limps. The prince’s teeth dug into her neck and made her lift the head.

With open eyes she watched the hands tied to the fence growing bigger. Her nails grew longer. Her eyes grew wide as she realized: This body was no longer her own, but it wasn’t his either.

The hands grew so big they broke the rope wrapped around it. The body fell to the ground and the prince with it. He didn’t even care to look up, but continued his assault. The mouth opened to give way for teeth and in that moment Djurdja finally completely understood what had happened and what was about to happen. The lips twisted into a smile. I am the _sign of injustice_ , she said to herself, but only a growl left the lips. The claws dug themselves deep into the earth. She raised her voice to speak, but the body only left out a howl. _The place where violence was committed_. The teeth were all sharp now. There was only the moon above and the smell of prey all around it. The body was hungry. _Violence breeds violence_. It fletched its teeth. Djurdja started to laugh and it sounded like a howl. _But not all violence is unwarranted._

**Author's Note:**

> alright, now that the cat is out of the bag, how obvious was that plottwist, huh?  
> anyway this story was partially inspired by [irisdouglasiana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisdouglasiana/pseuds/irisdouglasiana)'s perfect [red riding hood fanfiction about ivar](https://ivarthebadbitch.tumblr.com/post/189270408439/your-teeth-your-claws). if you have time check that out as well.


End file.
